Page 9 of Wilder’s Mistake

“Tomorrow.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Come to the compound when you’re ready and want an answer.”

I pick up my keys and walk out. Lucy remains in the doorway, the cheap ring still on her hand.

CHAPTER 3

LUCY

It’s Monday morning. I leave the wedding ring on the bathroom counter, but by the time I’ve finished my coffee, it’s back on my finger.

The rhinestone catches on my blouse and taps against my phone when I answer one work email. I tell myself I kept it because I’m driving to the compound to discuss the marriage, and appearing without the ring would make a statement I am not ready to make. The explanation is so weak that I can’t pretend otherwise.

I barely managed to sleep after Wilder left me against the wall with my mouth swollen and my body aching for more. Monday was supposed to be the first of two quiet days before I return to work. Instead, I drive beyond Ransom toward the Kingdom Come gates, rehearsing an adult conversation with a man who can wreck my composure in one look.

The compound lies where the road narrows between thick oak and hickory. A high steel fence surrounds the property. Cameras turn above the gate, and a prospect steps from the guard shack before my car reaches the painted line.

Motorcycles stand beyond him in two ordered rows. Men in black cuts move between a long garage and the low clubhouse. An engine roars inside an open bay, vibrating through the buildings.

I lower the window.

“Who are you here for?”

“Wilder.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“Not really.”

The prospect waits. He isn’t opening the gate without more.

I glance at the ring on my hand. “Tell him his wife is here.”

His eyes drop to the rhinestone, then return to my face. “His wife?”

“That’s what I said.”

He presses the radio at his shoulder. “Wilder, front gate.” Static crackles.

“What?”

“Got Lucy Dawson here. Says she’s your…wife?”

After a pause, Wilder answers, “She is. Let her through.” The steel gate begins to move.

The prospect points toward the clubhouse, still looking as though the morning has become far more interesting than expected. I drive in beneath the club insignia welded across the gate.

Men look up as I drive in. One stands near the garage, broad and motionless beside a workbench. Another speaks into a phone on the clubhouse steps. Two brothers carry a long wooden crate through the open garage bay, where a pair of steel boxes sit on a pallet.

An older man with a heavy gray beard notices my ring.

“Road Captain get married?”

The man on the steps lowers his phone and looks at my hand. “Looks that way.”

Another older brother turns from the engine he is working on, his long hair tied at the back of his neck. His attention moves from me to Wilder, who is crossing the yard.